


Timely Intervention

by pook



Category: Waking the Dead (TV)
Genre: Angst, Drama, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-01
Updated: 2018-08-01
Packaged: 2019-06-20 01:25:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15523017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pook/pseuds/pook





	Timely Intervention

Timely Intervention

Pairing: Grace/Boyd  
Rating: M  
Summary: Set during the season seven episode, Missing Persons – Grace comes to the rescue.  
Author’s notes: Special thanks to shadowsamurai83 for the beta  
Disclaimer: Waking the Dead belongs to the BBC. I’ve taken them out for a bit and promise to put them back when I’m done.

I need to know just how you feel, to comfort you;  
I need to find the key to let me in, into your heart, to find your soul.  
Pull back the shield between us, and I’ll kiss you,  
Drop your defence and come, into my arms.

All for believing by Missy Higgins

~~~

The custody sergeant pointed toward the door. 

Sneering, Luke Boyd knew where he was going. 

Sgt. Roman saw through the tough guy routine straight away. He’d seen it far too many times and figured it was probably an act of bravado because the kid’s old man was in the job.

He’d seen Luke’s record when he’d booked him in. It wasn't the first time the lad had been in trouble, although had been the first time in his station. Being the son of a policeman had meant there had been extra interest and consequently more than the usual traffic in the custody area. DS Peter Boyd was well known but not particularly well liked across the Met - mostly for his uncompromising and honest methods and near impossible work ethic. These were qualities that hadn't endeared him to the majority of the rank and file. There were people there happy to see DS Boyd pulled down a notch or two. Sgt. Roman watched as Luke disappeared into the room.

Peter Boyd rose as the door opened. It had been nearly three months since they'd seen or heard from Luke. Mary had found Luke rifling through their kitchen cupboards looking for money. Noticing how thin he’d become, Mary had made him eat a sandwich while she'd packed him some warm clothes and a spare mobile phone before she'd given him money. She’d later told Boyd that it had been better that she’d given it to him than if he’d robbed someone for it. Peter had agreed.

Unfortunately that was exactly what he’d done. Luke had been arrested for robbery. He’d held up a pensioner, threatening him, and then stolen his pension. 

Boyd wouldn’t be able to get his son off this charge even if he’d wanted to. The snide looks from all the coppers in the station meant that he wasn’t going to get any help from them either, nor did he want to.

Ignoring his father, Luke plonked himself down in the chair, turning away from Boyd. All he wanted to do was get out of here as he’d a need a hit soon. And the only way to stop the shakes was to chew his thumb nail. 

Imagining the disgust on his father’s face, the younger Boyd shrugged. For a brief moment, he couldn’t give a shit what his dad thought of him but then he got a whiff of himself. He stank. He couldn’t remember the last hot shower he’d had. 

Luke hated what he’d turned in. It wasn’t an adventure anymore. Before, when he’d run away for a week, his dad would’ve then tracked him down and had taken him home. It had been like a giant game of hide and seek. But it had now turned into a battle of survival. He’d been cold, hungry and scared. He’d been robbed, beaten up, and had done that to other people just to survive. He’d even sold himself to score. In the end, he’d turned to heroin to fill a void, to seek warmth. To escape. To dull the pain.

He’d done things he wasn’t proud of but what choice did he have. His father had never been there for him. His mother was just the same. No matter what he’d done, no matter how hard he'd tried, he’d never pleased them. He was always under-achieving in their eyes. They were always critical when he couldn't meet their lofty standards. 

There was no way he was going home with his father. And he wasn't going to give his father the satisfaction of seeing how far he'd fallen. Fuck him. Fuck the police. Fuck it all.

Relieved, DSI Boyd saw that Luke still looked a little thin but otherwise alright. He’d expected Luke not to look at him. In the final year before he’d left home, communication between them had ranged from screaming matches to weeks of silence. 

DS Corston and DC Tow entered the room. Without any fanfare, they began the interview, cautioning Luke Boyd. They had a strong case and they proved straight away by playing the CC TV vision tape. 

Luke had been caught red handed. And there had been three very good witnesses.

It was an open and shut case.

Peter Boyd said nothing. What could he say? He knew he couldn’t say anything. He was there only as an appropriate adult for Luke. He’d told enough parents to shut up as he’d interviewed their errant son or daughter. Even if he could, there was nothing he could do. They had a very strong case. It was no wonder the two detectives seemed very confident, almost cocky. Any jury seeing the tape of the poor old man looking terrified as Luke had pushed him up against a wall, shoving him, threatening him until the pensioner had given him his wallet, would take only one minute to find him guilty, if that.

Corston and Tow tried to get Luke to admit the crime but he wouldn’t. In the end, they really had no choice but to recommend that he be sent straight to the youth detention centre on remand because he was a street kid and would most likely disappear, despite the fact that his father was a policeman.

Luke looked shocked. Detention centre? They couldn’t do that. It had been his first robbery offence. His mates had said they’d always got a slap on the wrist, bail, and sent on their way. But their dad hadn’t been a pig. Fucking police. Fucking dad.

“Dad? They can’t do that.” Luke, for the first time, looked at his father, hoping that he’d interfere. The first seeds of doubt were sown. All his fears came to the surface. How was he going to score in gaol?

“Yes, we can and we will,” DC Tow replied, enjoying the discomfort that DS Boyd was feeling.

Luke ignored the DC. “Dad?”

“I’m sorry, Luke. I can’t ... ,” Peter replied softly.

Pleading, Luke grabbed his arm. “But Dad, please ... .” 

“No ... .” All his experience told him he was doing the right thing but he still felt sick to his stomach, just sitting in his chair, not lifting a finger to help his son.

Luke changed as he erupted, angrily pushing away from his father. He wasn’t going to help him. He'd only helped Luke before to help his own career - so he wouldn't be embarrassed or embarrass the force. His father had done only what he’d wanted. Nothing ever for him. Bastard.

“If you’d admit the charge then … .”

“Piss off!” 

Corston stepped in, “Son ... calm down ... .” 

“Don’t call me son! I’m not your son and he’s not my father!” Furiously accusing Peter, Luke crossed his arms. “Fuck off!”

“Alright.” Realising there was nothing more to be gained, Corston ordered an end to the interview and for Tow to remove Luke. “Detective Constable.”

Tow turned off the tape and stood up.

Luke’s anger turned to desperation as he tried once more, imploring, “Dad!”

“Sorry ... .” Boyd was torn but still did nothing.

“Come on, Luke ... .” Tow gestured for him to stand up.

Luke violently pushed him away. “I hate you!”

Hearing the ruckus, the custody sergeant entered the room just in time. 

Tow and Roman grabbed his arms. 

“I hate you! I hate you!” Losing it completely, Luke spat at Peter. He tried to get away but was dragged backwards toward the door.

Peter remained seated as the door closed. It didn’t stop him hearing Luke scream that he hated him all the way to the holding cells. It seemed it was loud enough to hear out in the street and it ripped at his soul, but there was nothing he could do. 

All he could do was sit there and take it. All he could focus on was Luke yelling at him. His son hated him. It was his fault. He hadn’t lifted a finger to stop it. Already he felt guilty. He had no idea when or if Luke would ever want to see him again. Would he ever forgive him? Would Mary? God only knew. Boyd soon realised that he should’ve done more. He could’ve done more. But he hadn’t. He pushed his son away for good and now he hated him. And somehow he would have to live with that. 

Boyd had no idea how he was going to do that.

~~~

 

“Alright.” Looking at Spence, Boyd turned away from the board. “Check with the Home Office and find out where he is, then.” Twenty seven B, BB, Lore, and a clever Irish woman soon disappeared from Boyd’s mind’s eye.

Find out where he is.

How do you save someone like that?

I don't want to go in there and do something that might knock her back. 

Find out where he is.

He’s been transferred to a psychiatric unit.

“Dad, did you see that? I did a step over.”

“I hate you!”

“I want another piggy back, Daddy.”

“I hate you! You don’t understand me at all!”

“Higher, Dad!”

“I’m going. You can’t stop me!”

“I hate you!”

“Get out of my fucking way!”

“Luke Andrew Boyd, I’m arresting you for possession of class A drugs. You don’t have to … .”

“I hate you!”

Luke.

Boyd closed his eyes as the memories came flooding back. All the harsh words they’d said to each other. How Luke had not looked at his parents when he’d been sentenced. Boyd couldn’t keep him at home so he’d left for good and hadn’t been seen for over eight years. It had wrecked Boyd’s marriage. It had ruined his relationships. The girl that had been friends with Luke had thought that he’d been killed in a fight over drugs. But they’d found no body. Nothing. No trace at all. And it had been all Boyd’s fault. It had left him ill as Grace has so forthrightly pointed out not so long ago. He hadn’t dealt with it. He’d repressed it all, preferring to focus on his work, and in the end it was all that he had left.

Now Luke had been found. 

Alive.

Rose Delaney managed to get her life sorted out. Could Luke? He’d been too angry with Boyd when he’d tried to help Luke while he’d been in the youth centre, but in the end Luke hadn’t wanted help. And just a few minutes ago, Grace had told him that the person had to want to get help for it to succeed. 

I don't want to go in there and do something that might knock her back. 

He had to see Luke himself before he’d believe it even as the DNA trace had been conclusive. It had been years since he’d had a dream of finding him alive. It was in his nightmares. There had been far too many nights where he’d awoken from a nightmare, bolted upright, covered in sweat, seeing Luke lying on a slab in a morgue or finding his battered or maggot infested body on some waste ground, like the fate of so many other street kids. 

What was he going to do? He had no idea. All that mattered was that he’d try to help him now. Would Luke forgive him? What would Mary want to do? It had been years since he’d talked to her. She’d moved on, remarrying and moving to Birmingham.

Emotions boiled up and he felt overwhelmed. He had to get out of there. Tears welled in his eyes. He felt claustrophobic. Suddenly it seemed that all the air had gone from the building. His chest refused to move as he found it seemingly impossible to breath. The noise from his heart pounding was deafening. His stomach churned as bile rose up into his throat. 

He was going to throw up any minute. He had to regain control. 

Grace looked over her shoulder. “Boyd?” 

Boyd hadn’t heard Grace as he escaped.

Worried, she saw him rub his face with his hand, confirming something was wrong. Seriously wrong. And it had nothing to do with Sarah. Grace had known the truth about Sarah and Boyd well before Grace had confirmed it to the team after Stella had said that being in love was meant to make one happy. It was something much closer to home that was the problem. 

It had to do with Andrew Lloyd, the young lad who’d got more than he bargained for when he’d tried to mug Therese Carson, ending up electrocuted after being thrown from the platform onto the tracks.

Boyd’s reaction to Lloyd had been immediate and almost overwhelming. Boyd had struggled to keep control. 

Andrew Lloyd was fifteen years old. A runaway. A street kid. A thief. Like Luke.

Boyd had been angry at Lloyd, yelling at him about if he’d known if his mother was alive, sick or dead. 

Andrew Lloyd was alive. Had Boyd found Luke? Was he alive or dead? 

Grace once had asked Boyd if he’d thought Luke was dead. The DSI had said as he hadn’t seen his body, he hadn’t known, and so he’d been living in a terrible purgatory for such a long time. Every discovery of a body or case involving a young male must have been a nightmare for Boyd. Guilt had been his constant companion. It was no wonder he’d repressed it all. 

Knowing he’d needed help, Grace decided not to give Boyd the choice of waiting for him to come to her. She stood up and followed him out of the CCHQ. 

Boyd collapsed into the passenger seat of his car. Grateful for the dark tinting on the Audi, he allowed the tears to fall, unable anymore to keep in check his emotions. Images of Luke happy as toddler interspersed with the angry young man he’d turned into flooded his mind. 

Grace sped up, making sure that Boyd wouldn’t drive off without her. When she reached his silver Audi, she could see just see him with his head in his hands through the darkened glass. Without bothering to knock, she opened the driver’s side door and sat down.

“Shit!” Boyd jumped before he quickly tried to wipe the tears away. After a deep breath and internally berating himself for breaking down, he tried to be professional but failed, his voice still cracking with the emotions he’d been feeling. “What’s happened? Have they found BB?”

“Not yet.” 

Running his hand through his hair, he tried in vain to control his breathing. He didn’t give a flying fuck about this BB or the case. Luke was all he cared about.

Grace decided it was now or never. The direct approach had worked with Peter before and so after a calming deep breath, she asked, “Peter, have you found Luke?”

Boyd closed his eyes, not surprised that she’d deduced what had happened so quickly. Grace was very good at her job. She understood people. She understood him more than he cared to admit. And she had known him for such a long time. He wasn’t going to hide away from her or what was happening anymore. He turned to face her. “I think so.”

Grace didn’t dare ask it but she had to know to be able to help him. “Is he ...?”

Boyd interrupted, “He’s alive.” But he wouldn’t believe until he actually saw him.

“Oh, Peter ... .” Grace gently squeezed his hand. Relief washed over her, gratefully saying a little prayer she remembered from her childhood Catholic background. No wonder he was struggling. 

They sat in companionable silence for a while. 

Boyd felt her thumb rub the back of his hand softly. For so long he’d felt nothing, feeling just as dead as the bodies lying in Eve’s farm. He’d just been going through the motions but now as her warm soft hand caressed his, he felt alive. She looked at him, full of caring, wanting to help. He didn’t deserve her as a friend, considering how badly he’d treated her. He vowed he’d make it up to her.

“Where?”

“I don’t know yet. His DNA … .” 

“Eve?” 

“Yeah. I’m waiting for Eve to tell me which psychiatric unit. He’s lost his memory.” 

Nodding, Grace knew this was a common side effect of chronic drug use. There were only five such units in the London area. And she knew many of the psychiatrists that worked in them. A few clicks on a computer and they’d know. “I know someone who can find out. Do you want me to?”

He’d asked Eve to pass on that information when she received it, but as Grace was here, it made more sense, and he was very grateful for her help. He squeezed her hand and nodded.

After a quick phone call, they had the address. It wasn’t that far from CCHQ. 

“Now?” 

He barely thought about work. Fuck it. This was far more important. “Yes.” 

Grace phoned Spence, telling him that they’ll be out for a while and not to be disturbed. 

The journey to unit was made in silence. 

Grace occasionally spied Boyd tugging at the hairs of his goatee as he stared out of the window. She could barely fathom what he was going through. Imagine living for many years, knowing realistically that Luke had been dead, and all that Peter had been waiting for had been that dreaded phone call, telling him Luke’s body had been found. But would he have also found the strength within himself to hang on for dear life to that optimistic thread, that vain hope, that he may be alive somewhere? It was almost too hard to bear. She had no idea how she’d have reacted. For Boyd, it had almost broken him.

Just before the entrance to the unit, Boyd stopped and then squeezed Grace’s hand. “Thank you, Grace.” He thanked her for being with there for him whenever he needed her, even when he didn’t want it or didn‘t know if he even needed it. She was the only person that understood him. 

“That’s what friends are for, Peter.” Grace smiled, returning his gentle squeeze. She ushered him though the doors. “Come on. Let’s see your son.”


End file.
